


At the Rate I'm Going

by reserve



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: All Roads Lead to Canon, First Kiss, Gay Porn Hard, M/M, except not porn because they're teenagers, the junior flyers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 14:47:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4023871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reserve/pseuds/reserve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick knows all the words to "The Real Slim Shady," and Jonny is the best at everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At the Rate I'm Going

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "Gay Porn Hard" challenge, sorry there's no porn. Becks really wrote most of this. There are [tracks](https://open.spotify.com/user/on_reserve/playlist/5z14wvFf6IFtdAldbSwpLk) if you have Spotify.

Here's the thing: Jonny's been the best for as long as he can remember. Even at six, in Mites, he was kicking butt and taking names. He had one coach tell maman he was a prodigy. He had to look the word up later in their big English dictionary, but he knew it was a good thing before he knew what it meant. He could tell because it was said kind of quietly, the same way his parents talked about things they didn't want him to hear. _He's a prodigy_ , Coach Renault had said, and maman had tilted her head to the side, her lips bunched together, one eyebrow raised in what Jonny had come to know as her "about to call bullshit" expression.

But he was good. He was very good. Maybe not a prodigy, maybe not the next Gretsky, and certainly not the savior of hockey. But he was good. He'd been basically born with a hockey stick in one hand. And even though he played other sports and was good at those too (being good at stuff was kind of his thing. Like, he just really liked being the best at stuff) hockey was his favorite thing. Hockey was the sport that made him feel the most at ease and the most fired up at the same time. At twelve he didn't really have the words to describe the harsh adrenaline rush he felt before he went out onto the ice. But he felt it. He was nervy and intense and focused and basically a grown up in his own opinion because he traveled and did lots of stuff for the sake of the game.

"For the sake of the game" was one of his favorite phrases. He really got that. Some kids played video games with a single minded intensity, some kids collected Pokemon cards, and Jonny liked Halo and his X-Box and Pokemon as much as the next guy, but hockey was _real_. And it was his.

The Junior Flyers contacted his parents the summer after he turned thirteen. Their scouts (they had _scouts_!) had seen him play with the Winnipeg Junior Jets and they wanted him. It would involve a lot of travel for their weekend games which took place all over the Northeast. Plus, he would have a billet family for the first time, just like a real hockey player. He had to beg, but when he came to hockey, he was more than willing. Jonny would be leaving home on weekends and competing with other players just like him. He spent the remainder of the summer practicing his heart out with his little brother David, the two of them spending as much time at the indoor rink as their parents would allow.

The week before 8th grade started he had training with his new teammates, and met the family he'd be staying with for the first time. The Millers had an extra room now that their son was away at boarding school (playing hockey, of course). Jonny liked them well enough; they were nice and kind of stern, and even the bedroom he stayed in, surrounded by some other kid’s trophies, felt familiar. The other kids on the team felt familiar too. Jonny was pleased to immediately distinguish himself as one of the best players because that’s just what he did; what he’d always done. Then on the third day, this blond kid showed up.

Patrick Kane looked too young to be on a team with them. He was short, like _really_ short, and he had way too much hair. He didn’t talk a lot, and he blew Jonny’s burgeoning stats out of the water like it was his job.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jonny said, watching him minnow through defense during their first practice together. Later Jonny would find out that Kane was playing with like, three other leagues, and that explained why he’d missed part of their training. Apparently his dad drove him all over the place, the trunk of his Jeep Cherokee filled with all of Kane’s various jerseys. 

On the ice, after scoring what was arguably a stunning goal, Kane dropped to one knee and slid forward in the most ridiculous estimation of a “professional” celly that Jonny had ever seen. But Jonny's opinion didn't matter, because with Patrick Kane on their team the Junior Flyers were killing it from the outset. 

And he was happy.

Then a blizzard hit right after the New Year. It was a home game weekend, and the team was scrambling to find places for the kids who didn't billet to stay. Patrick was assigned with him. Of course he was. He'd flown down from Buffalo but his father was supposed to come pick him up and couldn't now thanks to the storm. Mrs. Miller picked them up after their afternoon game (which they won, Toews with the assist, Kane with the shot, goaalllll!), and Patrick gave him the side eye the entire 45 minute drive back to the house. 

They dumped their gear in Jonny's room, and then Jonny tossed Patrick another sweater and a turtleneck. Together they went through the dresser drawers and the closet, pulling on spare winter clothing as they went. A blizzard meant warmer air, fresh packable snow and the opportunity to play outside instead of being cooped up in the house. The Millers had a more than serviceable playset in their yard, and Jonny and Patrick ran towards it the second they were outside, stumbling through the already knee deep snow, shoulder to shoulder. 

When they got sick of the swings they built a snow fort, and pelted innocent passerby with snowballs. It was the kind of mischief Jonny could get behind, especially because he didn't really live here, and no unsuspecting Winnipegger he'd beaned was going to track down him and maman in the Safeway because she'd recognized him. 

Patrick knew all the words to "The Real Slim Shady" and Jonny knew this first hand because Patrick had been singing it _all day_ , stopping and starting and messing up various parts before beginning again. Jonny only knew part of the song, namely the chorus, and it wasn't the sort of thing his parents let him listen to anyway. They had rules; clearly the Kanes didn't. 

The street traffic slowed down as it got darker and they got bored of the snowballs. Their lips were tinged blue. Patrick still wouldn't stop trying to sing, so Jonny elbowed him hard. Patrick retaliated by shoving a half-formed snowball down the back of Jonny's coat. 

"You asswipe!" Jonny shouted. The swear was a new one, he was still testing out a lot of them. Patrick just grinned at him, big smile stretching between pink cheeks, and revealing very white teeth which were straighter and nicer than Jonny's.

Jonny tackled him. They rolled out of their fort and onto the snow covered lawn. Jonny felt all of the air go out of Patrick's chest when they landed and Patrick made this little oof sound like he'd been checked. Then Patrick went very, very still beneath him. 

They were tired, that explained why he wasn't moving. They were tired from waging a snowball war, tired from building the snow fort. Jonny wasn't even holding onto Patrick all that hard. Patrick could _totally_ get out if he wanted to. But he didn't, he just lay in the snow with Jonny's legs bracketing him, lay there and didn't even flinch when Jonny reached down and ruffled the snow out of his hair. 

The snow started coming down more heavily and they settled into a long, slowmo moment that seemed to drag between them, the longest they'd been quiet all day. Jonny wanted to ask if Patrick was ok, wanted to move, but he couldn't. Because Patrick was just staring at him, and there was even more dumb snow in his dumb hair and why didn't Patrick have a hat on?  
  
"You should have a toque on," Jonny said, stupidly, and he sounded like his mom. That wasn't very cool. 

"You don't have one," Patrick countered.  
  
"Well I'm Canadian," Jonny said.  
  
Patrick moved to throw him off maybe, but Jonny clamped his thighs around Patrick's hips and held him in place.

"Toews," Patrick said very seriously, getting the pronunciation right which warmed Jonny up despite the snow and Patrick's tone.  
  
"Kane."

Patrick's blank expression shifted into a smirk and then he shoved Jonny off of him, hard, using his thighs to topple him over and into the snow. They both started laughing immediately, wheezing between wracking guffaws because of the cold air getting sucked into their lungs. Together they lay there, neither one willing to give up and go in just yet, staring up at the flakes coming down, letting the cold seep into their jackets.

The back door opened and flooded the yard with sudden light. Jonny looked over his shoulder.

"Jonathan," called Mrs. Miller. "Patrick! It's too dark to be out."

Patrick picked himself up on his elbow and smirked at Jonny again, then he dumped a handful of snow on Jonny's face and yelled "race you," before scrambling out of the snow and taking off toward the house at a breakneck pace. Jonny knew two things: Patrick Kane didn't play fair, and Jonny liked him.

Later in his borrowed bedroom Patrick would tell him how happy he was about the blizzard. Jonny shrugged, maybe his lip twitched, but he was thrilled too. They got to miss school. They got to have a sleepover. He hadn't had a sleepover in a long time that wasn't a road trip. They changed into their pajamas, which consisted of a giant yellow tweety bird shirt and boxers for Patrick, and flannels and a Jets shirt for Jonny.

"The Jets? Really? Gross." Patrick raised an eyebrow. 

Jonny blew a raspberry at him. There was something about Patrick, he'd come to realize, that managed to rile him up. It might have been that they played on the same level, which was both delightful and dismaying. Or maybe his smile, or his mocking tone. Or maybe just his stupid face in general. Jonny couldn't be sure.

There wasn't much for them to do at the Millers because Jonny was only there on the weekends the Flyers played home games, but Patrick had a CD Walkman and bag of candy so full it was almost bursting. 

"I had to fly alone," Patrick said around a twizzler, which he kept rotating in his mouth as he ate. "I hate it. So—" he gestured at what was now _their_ candy hoard according to Patrick. 

"Your parents bribe you with candy?" 

"Or I cry." Patrick looked proud.

"I don't know if you should brag about that," Jonny said thoughtfully as he unwrapped another jolly rancher. Both of their mouths were stained red. He was glad no one was going to see him. 

"Whatever," Patrick said, and sucked up the remaining twizzler with a loud slurp. 

They ate their way steadily through the bag of candy. There were a lot of gummies which were Jonny's favorite, and Patrick had the cola ones and peach ones. They hadn't really talked all that much before Patrick was assigned to stay with him and wait out the storm, and now they couldn't stop talking. Regular Patrick was quiet in the locker room with an undercurrent of hyperactivity that only revealed itself on the ice; blizzard Patrick was verbose and funny, and he told Jonny about his family in Buffalo, his three little sisters who were all close enough in age to be Irish triplets, and his parents who actually sounded relatively strict, at least when it came to hockey. Jonny sprawled out on the ground, and Patrick pulled out his Walkman and offered one of the headphones to him. He flopped down, putting their heads close together, and rested the little CD player on his stomach, then pulled a face like he was getting away with something before pressing play. 

Green Day came blaring into Jonny's eardrums. Patrick started a steady, actually pretty onbeat air drum recital, accompanied by a lot of shaking. He kept giving Jonny conspiratorial looks, because Green Day was pretty much contraband, just like Eminem, and that much candy. It was...fun. Not hockey fun, but fun. Jonny was nodding his head along to "Minority" when he realized it was also probably late and Patrick was supposed to fly out tomorrow when the blizzard passed. He ignored the drop in his stomach when he thought about it, but was about to suggest bed when Mrs. Miller knocked lightly on the door and said, “lights out, boys.” 

“Blah,” Patrick said, but scooted across the carpet to dig through his bag for his toothbrush. They brushed their teeth together, jockeying for better access to the sink, and giggling around their toothbrushes. Patrick smiled at him in the mirror, toothpaste suds sliding down his chin. His lips were still stained bright red and in the bathroom light his hair looked extra blond, a frizzy halo. Patrick was pretty disgusting. 

They made up the bottom trundle bed for him, and shut the lights. Jonny dropped his leg down so that his foot rested on Patrick's shin, and Patrick didn't move away. 

"You're really good," Jonny said into the dark, his mouth dry.

"Thanks, dude." 

"No, I mean you're _really_ good," Jonny repeated, hating how intensely he meant it, how serious he sounded. 

"Yeah, I said—"

"I mean you're as good as I am."

Jonny couldn't see it, but he could tell that Patrick had just rolled his eyes.

"Like you're so dope," he scoffed, but it sounded flat.

"Fine," Jonny said, "don't take the compliment. But you are."

An awkward silence settled between them and Jonny regretted saying anything at all. But it was true: Patrick _was_ good, Patrick was exceptional, just like him. Then he registered that Patrick was still humming "Slim Shady," and suddenly Jonny wanted to punch him. He flopped off his twin and down onto Patrick without warning. Patrick couldn't shift out of the way in time and Jonny landed squarely on top of him, just like they'd been outside, except the only thing between them now was bedclothes and pajamas.

Jonny covered his face with his pillow, muffling him and then his protests.

"Are you going to stop?"

Patrick only made unintelligible sounds in reply, but he reached up and pinched Jonny hard on his side, hand under his t-shirt. Jonny startled enough that Patrick was able to squirm out from under the offending pillow and curl his lip up at him, poised to say something. 

Jonny took that moment to kiss him, because it just seemed like the right thing to do. It was a quick peck. Meaningless. He pulled away fast, cheeks hot.

Patrick’s eyebrows drew together, his forehead scrunched up. “But you play _hockey_ ," he said, voice filled with disbelief.

“So?” Jonny shrugged one shoulder, his eyes narrowed. “So do you. Who cares?”  
  
Patrick blinked. Once, twice, three times, and then he lifted up his chin and pressed his mouth back to Jonny's. It was dry, not like Jonny thought kissing was supposed to be. He'd never kissed anyone before and he hoped that Patrick couldn't tell. He wasn't sure if Patrick had kissed anyone, either. It wasn't like they had talked about it, and Jonny suspected Patrick would lie about it anyway if he hadn't. 

"Stop _thinking_ ," Patrick said, very close to Jonny's mouth. He sounded annoyed, like he knew just what Jonny had been thinking about, too. His breath was sweet and toothpasty and Jonny wanted to taste him for real. It must have shown on his face, because Patrick put his hands on Jonny's cheeks and tilted his head to the side. Then they were kissing again and this time, with the proper angle, their mouths slipped together, their lips catching. It was more. It was more like Jonny thought it might be. He felt a fluttery sensation in his stomach that he'd only ever associated with the moments before a game began.

Patrick's tongue swiped across his lower lip and Jonny abruptly jerked away. He dragged the back of his hand over his mouth.

"What's wrong?" Patrick looked hurt.

"Nothing. I just. I didn't expect..." Jonny rubbed at the back of his neck and licked his lower lip. His eyes found the mattress instead of Patrick's face.

"That's is how they do it in porn. With the tongues and all," Patrick said 

"You've seen porn?" Jonny glanced up. Patrick looked bashful.

 "Haven't you?"

"No, not really."

"I mean I saw some. Kind of...once," Patrick amended.

"Kind of. Once?" Jonny repeated, his eyebrows raising. "You're so stupid."

Patrick's whole face fell, his lower lip suddenly wobbly, and Jonny felt immediately awful.

"I didn't mean it. I meant awesome. You're so awesome. I'm sure that's exactly how it goes. The kissing. C'mere—"

And he reached for Patrick, maybe like he was going to kiss him again and maybe like he was going to pull him close and wipe away any tears that might fall. But then Patrick was laughing at him, at his fumbling alarm, and grinning ear to ear. And once again, Jonny wanted to punch him, so he settled for jamming their mouths back together, and the surprised "mmmph" that Patrick made when Jonny very purposely licked his lower lip was worth getting laughed at for.

They stayed like that for awhile, sitting crosslegged with their arms around each other's necks and kissing. Patrick couldn't stop giggling and eventually Jonny dragged him down to the mattress and tangled their legs together. He concentrated at being the best at kissing too. And that first moment of contact, when their bodies aligned from their mouths to their ankles, was enough to make them both pull back and stare at each other, eyes wide, breath catching between them.

"We're making out," Patrick said.

"Yeah, yeah we are."

"Awesome," Patrick breathed out, before kissing him again with renewed intensity, like now that he'd said it, named it, he could put his whole into it.

And trading kisses with Patrick felt like sharing secrets: it really _was_ awesome. 

"We should do this all the time," Jonny said.

Patrick agreed by kissing him again, sloppy and wet and still minty and Jonny couldn't help but think that it was horribly sad that Patrick had to leave tomorrow, that they lived so far apart, that the Flyers only played on weekends, that they weren't schoolmates, that they probably wouldn't have cause to share a room together ever again, and if they did, who could tell if Patrick would even still want to kiss him. His solution was to kiss back just as insistently, to clutch one of Patrick's hands in his, and try his hardest not to fall asleep. Jonny couldn't help but feel like he had won something. 

**Author's Note:**

> I am a parody of myself. I'll leave this unlocked for about two weeks <3


End file.
